the accidental parade is more entertaining than the real one.

Okay, that was fun. I'm sore, groggy, and my face hurts from smiling so much. The Westcott St. Cultural Fair, with it's bizarre little peace-puppet parade, its aging co-op members, African dancers, slender vegans and high ratio of scruffy-teens has come and gone.

Dang! I met some sweet people, had lots of people seek me out from last year, saw lots of old store customers, chatted with new and old friends, and enjoyed the day long other parade, the informal one, the neverending stream of people I've seen around forever but never met, who all seem to be getting older too. There's that guy we used to call Bohemian Man, he's traded in his lizard boots for sneakers. Is that woman one of the belly dancers or is that her real outfit? Oh, that guy's rasta hat is even bigger. Humans and time, they make a great parade.

this is the time. and this is the record of the time.

I worked through a valiant round of tag making this morning. No wonder I put it off, it takes forever to churn out a new batch. Plus I have to tuck in all the nice dry fabric and get out the gooey tools. But tag day is always a good chance to pause and be proud that I am forging ahead, to acknowledge that I've used up a whole bunch and apparently I have enough faith that in the coming months I'll sew each one of these onto a new creation.
In other news: Syracuse. I complain about my city a lot. It deserves it. But I am thrilled, yes thrilled, to report that we have a new local fabric store. And by local I mean it is not a chain. It's in the Delavan Center, the artist's warehouse space where, conveniently enough, Mr. Lentil works.

Normally I use all recycled materials, but I admit they have caught my eye. I skulked in carefully, fearing that by the name alone (Feminine Touch Fabrics) they might kick me out immediately. But no. The owner Linda introduced herself, shook my hand, didn't gawk at my tattoos and promptly took me on a tour. They. Have. A. Warehouse. Full of fabric. I had many moments of bliss. I picket out some wonderfully inky-black stretch linen (sounds tacky but it is not) and a nice big remnant of coral cotton jersey. I'm not a big fabric hoarder, but they are nearby and as soon as I use this I will be back. If you're local, let me know and I'll meet you there. I mean it.

free jazz makes me proud to be a human.

More than most things. Frode Gjerstad + Paal Nilssen-Love Monday night at Metropolis.

Opening set by American Sphinx: Michael Hentz and Jarek Miller.

Thanks to Michael Hentz from NewThing for the pictures.

Mountains come out of the sky and THEY STAND THERE.

This isn't funny any more. I'm brushing my teeth, I'm washing the dishes, minding my own business and without advance notice discover I am humming or singing either the words or bass line from the Yes song Roundabout.

It has now been months. Months, my friends. A weaker mind would have snapped. A stronger mind would have bucked this somehow.

I did just discover the source though, and it has not helped. I haven't heard Roundabout in years, and, I must say, never on purpose. But I've been playing this pinball game on the Wii and one of the games has music that ends with a similar riff - just one measure. That planted the evil seed. But I refuse to stop playing the game. And thus I suffer.

lush plush.

There's a whole lotta good plush on etsy. I grabbed a coveted Treasury today and curated a lovely bunch of stuffed things.

Artists, by etsy name: nimoy, debivanzyl, girlsavage (thanks for the picture), dkoss2, spidercamp, curster, mummysam, Quirkles, ObeyMyBrain, herzensart, beccajo, catsmiaow.